


Que notre âme croisse en amour

by esteven



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, French poetry, Implied Relationships, M/M, X-over P.J. Saint Martin, undercover!Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/pseuds/esteven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert goes undercover. Valjean and Cosette are not happy</p><p>My thanks to Chrissy24601 for suggestions and beta above and beyond the call of duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Que notre âme croisse en amour

It was nearly midnight and Cosette was fast asleep in her bed, her new doll in her arms. Valjean looked around the living room. He bent for the odd scrap of wrapping paper beneath the Christmas tree. Cosette had beamed at him when she found the doll in the dark blue dress amongst her presents and instantly named her Catherine. But her smile had faded because her first and most important wish on her ever-changing list had not been granted. Valjean knew how she had wished and prayed for Javert’s return.

He sighed and strolled into the kitchen, flinging the paper into the bin. It was Christmas Day tomorrow, and he decorated the breakfast table with extra care, choosing a seasonal tablecloth and red candles to go with the mugs and plates for himself, Cosette and Javert. He had laid the table for three every day for the past year; ever since that evening – two weeks before last Christmas - when Javert had told him he would have to leave.

Even now Valjean felt the shock that had coursed through him at those words. Javert’s hands had framed his face; his mouth had caressed Valjean’s eyelids, had ghosted to his lips and lastly, as if in benediction, kissed his brow. 

_“I have to go undercover.” Javert’s voice was cold. Valjean recognized that he had already withdrawn into himself as much as he could._

_“How long?” His heart beat in his throat while he imprinted Javert’s facial impression in his memory._

_“Weeks, likely months. I cannot say. I will try to stay in contact, but...” Javert shrugged, his voice dropping to a whisper._

_Valjean wanted to say something, to protest maybe. But there were no words, and so he closed his mouth again._

_Javert rested his brow on Valjean’s. They stayed in the circle of each other’s arms for a long time, but still too short by Valjean’s measure. Then Javert turned and walked out of the room. Valjean heard the front door click shut._

With every week that passed, Valjean’s hopes that this would be a fast operation were dashed. He had also run out of what to tell Cosette, who could not understand why her father was no longer around.  
After a month, Bernard, Javert’s partner, had been at the door. He had come in for a mug of coffee, telling Valjean that the operation went well. Then he had taken a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket and pushed it across the kitchen table.

Valjean had smoothed it carefully to read the few smudges. _Que notre âme croisse en amour. J._ At recognising the line from their favourite poem, he had been unable to stop his tears.

Since then Valjean had carried the slip of paper in his wallet. It had been the first and the last time Javert had been able to make contact. Over the months Bernard had continued to show up. They would have a coffee. Bernard would tell him what little he knew, which boiled down to _Everything is going smoothly. Javert is well._ Valjean clung to these words like lifelines.

At first Valjean had slept in the guest room, because it broke his heart to sleep in their bedroom without Javert. After two weeks he had returned, though, but since then slept on Javert’s side of the bed, hugging Javert’s pillows close to his chest. 

Come summer time his eyes were finally cried dry. Life went on, whether he wanted to or not.  
Then two months ago, when he had opened the door expecting Bernard, it had been Javert’s superior who stood on his doorsteps. _Commissaire_ Michaud had fiddled with his hat even after he had taken one of the kitchen chairs.

_“Coffee, Commissioner?”_

_Michaud shook his head. “Monsieur Valjean,_ la Crim’ _has lost contact with Commandant Javert. We no longer know his whereabouts.”_

_Valjean clung to the counter. He opened his eyes, staring at Michaud. He read regret in the older man’s eyes._

_“I am sorry, Monsieur Valjean, but I thought you would like to know.” The commissioner stood up with shoulders bowed and patted Valjean’s arm awkwardly. “I will find my own way out.”_

That news had shaken him, but a few weeks after that, when Valjean thought he could not become more desperate, he had had a phone call asking him to the commissariat. He arrived having broken speed records along the way. The receptionist had pointed to the commissioner’s office and Valjean, heart beating high in his throat, had climbed the stairs two steps at a time in the wild hope that the operation was ended; that he would open the door and Javert would be there, tired and filthy and, knowing his eating habits, probably emaciated but _there_. 

_But Javert wasn’t. Instead, Valjean had found the commissioner and most of Javert’s colleagues in the room, nodding him a greeting. Michaud had needed two tries to get his news out._

_“I had a call from the Préfecture. They have recovered what seems to be Commandant Javert’s body.”  
Valjean grabbed at the table in front of him. Bernard’s hand was at his elbow, supporting him to a chair. The others looked down, shaken nearly as badly as Valjean when they filed out. Valjean felt their eyes on him. One dark haired lady came forward and took his hands. She pressed them gently. _

_“So sorry, Monsieur Valjean.”_

_He nodded vaguely._

Valjean did not know how he had got home, how his car had ended up in their driveway. Bernard had offered to stay. Valjean had thanked him but declined. He had wanted to be alone. It had been bad enough to keep up an unconcerned front for Cosette. 

Still, Valjean clung with all his might to Michaud’s exact words: ‘what seems to be’. No certainty. That meant Javert might still be alive somewhere. Or so he told himself. But with each passing day, desperation pushed aside what little hope he had retained, until now, at last, he was ready to give up. 

After he finished in the kitchen, he locked the front door and hung it’s key on the small hook to the side. He drew all curtains downstairs before dragging himself up the stairs. Before going to his bedroom, he looked in on Cosette. She was asleep, curled up with her fluffy wolf, a toy Javert had given her years ago.  
Valjean buried himself in the cold bed, Javert’s pillow his only consolation. It would be so easy to let go, to follow Javert into oblivion. But he had to care for their daughter: she did not deserve to lose her parents a second time. Cosette had suffered badly enough when her mother had died shortly after giving her into care. When Cosette no longer needed him, he would join Javert so that their souls could grow in love once more. But until then, he would see their little girl grow up. 

On Christmas morning, Valjean woke Cosette and sent her to the bathroom to get ready for the day, while he went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Still a bit drowsy, he noticed that the door to the kitchen was ajar, and he heard the kettle boil. Could Cosette have gone down before him to put it on? No, she had been vast asleep only minutes ago. Then who…? 

He stood in the kitchen doorway, rooted to the spot. Convinced that he was either dreaming or hallucinating or both, he dragged his hands across his face. 

“Sit before you fall down, _mon Jean_.” With a few confident steps, Javert strode across the room, grabbed Valjean and held him close. 

Valjean raised a hand and hesitantly traced the lines in Javert’s face. He seemed to have acquired several new ones, but Valjean did not mind. “ _Mon âme_ , you have come home.” Valjean breathed in wonder. “You _have_ come home.” 

Suddenly Javert held him tighter still. Their bodies inched closer as if they needed to re-learn each other’s contours. Javert inclined his head, his eyes bright with as yet unshed tears. Valjean raised his gaze to meet them. He framed Javert’s face in his hands, needing touch to feel Javert’s reality. For that same reason he welcomed the firm grip of Javert’s hand at the back of his head. 

“You must never leave again.” Valjean’s voice broke. “I cannot go through another year like this.” 

Javert drew a deep breath, his eyes locked on Valjean’s. “Neither can I.” 

Valjean feathered kisses along Javert’s cheek before daring to find the lips he had missed so dearly. They tasted salty, and he knew it was their tears mingling. Javert kissed him back, rough and hard, betraying a deep despair that he would never admit to in words. 

When at last they drew apart for some air, a small voice behind them piped up. “Papa? Father?” 

Cosette stood in the doorway with Catherine in her arms. They turned to her, releasing each other although Valjean’s hand remained as firmly around Javert’s waist as Javert’s hand stayed on his shoulder.  
“Father!” Cosette let her doll fall where she stood and rushed forward. Valjean caught and lifted her up, so she could wrap her arms around the both of them. He saw Javert nuzzle their daughter’s neck while the hand on his shoulder gripped him tighter. He squeezed back, further cementing their little circle of three. 

“You will stay with us now, Father?” Cosette asked as her hands grasped at his collar. 

Javert looked at her, at Valjean and back at her. “Yes. Yes, I will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The title _Que notre âme croisse en amour_ means _That Our Souls Should Grow in Love_ and is from Victor Hugo’s [Aimons toujours! Aimons encore!](http://www.poemswithoutfrontiers.com/Hugo.html):  
>  _Aimons-nous toujours davantage !_  
>  Unissons-nous mieux chaque jour.  
> Les arbres croissent en feuillage ;  
> Que notre âme croisse en amour !  
> Translation :  
>  _Let us love always and more!_  
>  Let us unite better each day,  
> Trees grow their foliage;  
> That our souls should grow in love.


End file.
